Woods and Tuxedos
by Fauxhound
Summary: John didn't know how he got so lost, but it happened. All he wanted was to get home, but the wilderness didn't seem to want that to happen. When he begins to find notes with drawing of a guy in a tux taped to buildings and tress, he starts to feel uneasy... and feel like he's being followed. Oneshot. Based off of a picture on Tumblr.


If not for that chilling breeze, the night might have been a little warm. John Egbert walked quietly into the clearing, pointing his flashlight in the direction the path lead to. Shouldn't he have been out of this place already? He sighed and continued down the dirt road until a fence came into sight. A smile broke across his face and he jogged up to it, only to find that it was closed and wore a sign warning that it was electrically charged.

"What?" John breathed. Was this the wrong way out? "That can't be right…" He looked over his shoulder, confused, and then began back into the center of the clearing. Maybe he _had_ gone the wrong way. He faced the woods that surrounded the clearing with a stab of uneasiness.

John began towards the woods, his flashlight pointed ahead of him as his shoes met grass and he walked between two trees. The wind picked up suddenly, sawing the trees' branches. The grass rippled like a green ocean. No matter where John looked, he only saw grass and trees.

Eventually, the boy came to another, smaller clearing, and saw a house.

"Aha," he said aloud. "Maybe someone in there can help me."

His legs picked up their pace and he jogged over to the house, a small smile growing on his face as he went. A truck was parked near the building, and he peeked through the windows in case someone was sitting inside, but the vehicle was empty. John walked over to the house, but it was dark. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. His hope was shattered, and he dragged his feet as he walked around the house.

Something caught his eye as he walked by, and he turned to face the back of the house, his back against the dark woods and the piercing cold wind. On the back of the house was a lined paper taped to the door. John raised an eyebrow at it. Was it a note to any passerby's that found the place empty? He took the paper off of the door and brought it closer to his face, using is other hand to point the flashlight at it.

It was not a note. It was a drawing. There was a man in a suit with no face, a ton of the word "no" written around it. John groaned at the paper. Must have been another one of those well-dressed douche bags that he knew nothing about. From the looks of it, the artist must have though the same. Well-dressed douches weren't very popular. John folded up the paper and put it in his pocket. Maybe when he got home, he could ask Dad who it was.

The wind stopped completely out of nowhere and the woods fell silent. A chill ran down John's spine and he turned from the door of the house, pointing his light into the woods. The flashlight flickered, then died. The uneasy feeling in the boy's gut increased tenfold, and he smacked the bottom of the flashlight with the palm of his hand, cursing at it under his breath and shaking it desperately. It came back to life the same way as it died, and John pointed it back into the woods. There was nothing there, and the breeze kicked up again.

"Oh… heh, must have been imagining stuff," he muttered under his breath.

John wandered back into the woods, his feet shuffling through the grass a little noisily. He shivered slightly as he went, the temperature of the night seeming to drop suddenly. Before he knew it, he found himself standing before what looked like a large pipe in the middle of nowhere. He stared at it for a moment and peered inside. Something bright caught his eye, and he pointed the flashlight at it. Another paper.

He walked inside the pipe, dragging his fingers across its inside as he went. He stopped in front of the paper and took it off of the wall of the pipe.

Another drawing.

It had the same tux-wearing asshole on it, but this time, there was a messag scrawled messily onto it.

"He's always watching," John breathed as he read the paper. What was that supposed to mean? Was this some kind of prank? Well it was impossible to prank John. He was the prank master. Snorting, he shoved the paper into his pocket and turned towards the direction he came from. "Heh, nice try, whoever you ar-AAAHHH!"

There was a man standing right in front of the entrance of the pipe, the same guy on the papers. John backed away, stumbling. The longer he looked at the man, the dizzier he felt, and to make matters worse, his flashlight died again. The man didn't move, he just stood there.

John turned tail and ran. He ran as fast as he could and he didn't look back. He dropped his flashlight as he went, not daring to go back to get it. Soon, he had to stop to catch his breath, back against the trunk of a tree.

_What was that?_ he thought frantically, his heart beating at the speed of light. The longer he stood against the tree, the more he knew he had to check if that douche was still there. He peered around the trunk, but he couldn't see far into the thick darkness without a light. And he was high if he thought he was going to go back to get it. Eventually, he began to stumble through the darkness of the woods again, feeling with his hands to move around the trees.

"Wait a minute…"

John face palmed as he remembered that he brought his cell phone with him. He could use that as a replacement for his lost flashlight. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, then held it out in front of him. It wasn't as bright as his last tool, but it was better than nothing. Upon using it, he found that he was close to an area with a bunch of some sort of tank-looking buildings. He wandered over to them, and looked between every one was he walked. In case that asshole was there. He wasn't, but he spotted another paper. He was hesitant to grab it. Last time he took one, the guy showed up. John held his breath and walked over to it, tore it away, and glanced at it. Again, it was the guy, but there were no words on this one.

John's phone began to fuzz up, like when the TV got messed up. The wind stopped, and John's throat tightened. Quickly, he turned around and faced his phone to the woods.

The guy was standing there again.

John screamed and sprinted away. He glanced over his shoulder as he ran, and the guy was closer. He turned back to the way he was running and picked up speed. This was bad. Who was this guy? He was scaring the shit out of him! John caught sight of another building and fled inside, his vision suddenly dropping in quality. There were many turns, and he tried to lose the guy inside. He sat against the corner of one of the rooms inside, his knees drawing into his chest and the phone in his pocket. He waited for a few minutes in silence, hoping the tux guy woulding appear in the doorway. Luckily, he never did. John rose to his feet and slowly made for the doorway himself, and peeked around both corners. Nobody was there. He let out a breath of relief and wandered out silently, his heart leaping into his throat when he found the exit. As he left, the wind died and another chill rippled down his spine. John spun around to find the tux guy right in front of him. Vertigo hit him like a charging bull. John stumbled backwards, his vision blurry, and landed on his behind on the grass.

"You dropped your glasses."

What?

John looked up at the tux-wearing douche. Wait. He wasn't a tux-wearing douche…. That was Dad! John felt a mixture of anger and relief hit him and he released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

Dad handed John his glasses. "You dropped these while going into the building. Why where you running, son? I've been trying to talk to you for half an hour."

Oh. John placed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and gave an embarrassed giggle. "Sorry, Dad."

"Come, son. Let's go home."

"Okay."


End file.
